My Brother's Keeper
by Rungian Analysis
Summary: You once said we were like Isaac and Ishmael, fratello, two brother's representing the same whole. We will never be Isaac and Ishmael. South Italy/Romano/Lovino and North Italy/Veneciano/Feliciano. Not Itacest, unless you want to read it that way.


**Author's Note: **Have mercy on me, it's midnight and I'm tired. I'll edit this in the morning, hopefully it turned out somewhat okay. I know it's not very good, I'll probably re-do it later. I hope you enjoy!

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><p>You said we are like Isaac and Ishmael, the two brothers born instantly into separate paths. Of course they fought, like us, and one was favored more, like us, and the other ostracized, like us, but still the comparison made little sense. Isaac and Ishmael were strong, still are strong, always persistent (okay, so maybe somehow always <em>surviving<em> is a shared trait), but in the end they earned what they had; we never did. Everything we own we inherited from Grandpa Rome.

We are nothing like Isaac and Ishmael.

Then again, it is easy to pass off your comment, as it was more an absent thought that struck you during one prayer session than an actual notion. (You never have been very good at keeping your mouth shut.) Just as soon as it left your lips they were back to flapping off about something your potato bastard did that day, and in the end I had to smack you before blissful _silence_ could be restored. (I already spend most of my time with one chatterbox, I don't need _two._)

And yet, your comment stuck with me.

Then I started making my own comparisons.

You, little fratello, personify the North of Italy, the more 'European' side, Anglican, aristocratic. Your people aren't farmers, they don't toil away in harsh fields for many months of the year, harvesting all the necessary ingredients for the foods your higher ups love so much. They sit and paint and discuss, _look there_, they may say, _look at that poor boy_, and then keep walking. Here, in the South, we are that poor boy. North hardly shows South any compassion, let alone recognition despite us having the capital, and yet the rest of the world always thinks of Veneciano when they hear Italy. Veneciano, or ancient Rome. Never _Romano_.

You are loved by so many. Your old (shitty) alliance, your stupid friends, those other bastards. Grandpa. Why do you get to always be the lucky little brat? The kid that can't say no, the one who gets the praise, the idiot who can't defend himself and instead of being told 'grow up', they protect? I'm older; so what? If it really was because I was older, then why don't I get the better inheritance? Sure, I get the capital, but is that what people come for? Is that what's remembered, thought of, advertised?

Fuck no.

And yet you need me, fratello, you all do. Italy couldn't survive with just you in charge, with your hands made for brushes and eyes for love. Someone has to have calloused palms, a thousand yard stare. Again, though, there is little appreciation. That's all I want, that's all I need, is just some God damned _recognition_.

It's like I'm a stranger in my own home. I can't even run myself; the Mafia does that.

I'm a wanderer in the land I represent, walking between cliques with olive skin and auburn colored hair. It's easy to blend in, to act like a single minded entity, and yet we refrain from speaking. Even amongst our own kind there is a lack of proper communication, of proper understanding. Actions are easy, it's the words that are hard. After all, what can be said that isn't painfully obvious?

I always leave groups fast. It's best to wander than be forced to make awkward and pointless small talk with assholes.

Why do you get a complete puzzle, Veneciano, with beautiful images, when after I exhaust all odds I have to force mine into place, creating an ugly aesthetic?

We are nothing at all like Isaac and Ishmael, who tear each other down just to build one another back up. Only one of us does that. You fit in, I wander, you get praise, I get critiqued, you get the goods, I get the consequences. Veneciano, will you ever realize how jealous I am of you?

I will always be the Cain to your Abel, fratello.

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><p><strong>End Notes:<strong> I'm hoping most of you managed to get the biblical mentions. And as a more random side note, if you were wondering why I said _auburn_ hair at one point it is because red hair is believed, by some faiths, to be the Mark of Cain. (Cain was also known, after the murder, to be the 'wanderer'.) Of course the title comes from the famous verse "Am I my brother's keeper?"

Isaac and Ishmael were the two sons of Abraham, and it is from Abraham (and his sons) that we get three of the world's most dominant religions; Christianity, Islam, and Judaism.


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